


we've not yet lost all our graces

by mihael_jeevas



Category: Death Note
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 17:48:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4029064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mihael_jeevas/pseuds/mihael_jeevas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything had changed and nothing had changed. There was no Kira and a new L, but Mello and Matt were still skulking around the world like ghosts, nameless and faceless. And they were still together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we've not yet lost all our graces

 “This,” Matt declares. “Is a goddamn crime against humanity.” If he remembers correctly, the landlord had said this place was a fixer-up, but looking around the apartment—the hole in the bedroom wall, the mold all over the bathroom, the pipes that had been straight-up ripped out from underneath the kitchen sink—Matt had to take a stab and say that the landlord is a fucking liar.

 

 “You’re exaggerating,” a muffled voice calls from the living room.

           

 “I’m really not.” He spares the scene another glance and frowns. “But I _really_ wish I was.”

 

“It can’t be that bad,” Mello snaps, kicking a box out of the way to join Matt in the kitchen. “Or … it is.”

           

“You know, when I signed up with you I was expecting guts and glory, not faulty plumbing. How’d we even end up in a place like this?”

           

“It’s cheap and no one asks questions?”

           

Matt considers the burn across Mello’s face and the aged gunshots on his own chest, the fact that they had more guns and games than clothes, how everyone and their mother seems to want their heads on a spike. “Right. That.”

           

“Please tell me you can fix this.”

           

“Depends on how opposed you are to me flooding this building.” 

Mello sighs. “We should have let Near arrest us.”

*

 

The home improvement store was where dreams and also senses came to die. Everything smelled like wood, which was sadly not a euphemism, and if Matt never had to come here again he could die happily. But considering his current residence, he doubts he’ll get that lucky.

           

Half way through a tutorial about how to install … something, Matt had mentally fallen asleep. He feels a bit bad considering how bright and friendly the woman is, but ever since he’d left the hospital and hit the road with Mello it has been impossible to keep focused.

           

Everything had changed and nothing had changed. There was no Kira and a new L, but Mello and Matt were still skulking around the world like ghosts, nameless and faceless. And they were still together.

           

It had seemed like the best option at the end of everything. Somehow, despite all the odds, they hadn’t died. Of course Matt had gotten all shot up and Mello still wouldn’t reveal the secret to the Takada trick, but they were alive.

           

They were also, for the most part, free. The SPK and the Japanese taskforce had nearly dropped of non-Death Note related heart attacks when Near had passed the lack of sentence. Matt was pretty sure he’d never understand why, though looking back at their exhausted, ancient faces he thinks he has an idea. And maybe Near’s heart is softer than anybody gives him credit for.

           

They have two rules to live by: they cannot use their real names, and they had better not do anything big and bad enough to get “L” on their asses. It’s more than fair, considering.

           

Not that Matt personally remembers this; while Mello and Near made deals, Matt had been in a medically induced coma. It had taken a little more than two months for him to fully lick his wounds clean. Everyone said it was a miracle he had lived at all, let alone started to recover on his own, and Matt didn’t believe it himself. It wasn’t until Mello was at his bedside, warm and heavy on his sheets, that any of it felt real. Mello stayed with him every day, which was nice. Near had visited him a few times, which was strange. At one point Linder had shown up to check him out or something, which made zero sense, but Matt’s let that go since Mello won’t explain. The worst part was the ‘no smoking, no gaming, no fun’ rule, but naturally Mello had found a way to break that. It reminded him of the summer he came down with mono and Mello would sneak into Wammy’s medical ward to keep him company.

           

He has some hideous scars, both from the shots and the surgeries. They’re spots and lines of shiny pink skin and Mello gets this horribly guilty look on his face every time he sees them.

           

Matt’s not really sure what to do with Mello anymore. Before Mello had been a shitstorm, but he’d been _Matt’s_ shitstorm; even after the Mafia bullshit, he was still the same snappy kid he’d always been, this time with more leather and felonies attached. These days Mello is a lot quieter, almost calm most of the time, and it’s a bit depressing. Sure, Matt doesn’t miss walking around on eggshells or pondering if he’ll end up shot dead and dumped in a river. But looking at his all but lifeless friend doesn’t make him feel any better.

           

He’s also not sure what to do with their apartment, but Matt doesn’t want to be rude. So he smiles and waits until the woman’s gone before finding some quick-fix how-to book—he’s a genius, he’ll figure it out somehow.

           

It’s creepy, Matt thinks as he fishes for the cash Mello jammed in his hand when he was leaving. He’s not used to being the strong one. Mello needed him that way once, after the explosion, but neither of them talks about that.

           

There are a lot of things they don’t talk about, Matt’s realized. Most of it is small, but it’s the principle, the lack of communication. It wasn’t a problem when they were out to conquer the world and they played off each other naturally (perfectly). But now that they’ve been reduced to the lives of average folk, it all seems kind of important.

           

The truth is that Matt just doesn’t want to be the one to mention it. After all, it has to come up at some point.

           

(Hopefully)

*

           

After hopping around hotels, motels, and that one burn-out warehouse, staying in a semi-clean, mostly livable apartment is jarring. So is their lack of cash . By the end of their first month in the new place they’ve all but burned through what’s left of their money and Matt realizes, to his horror, that they’ll have to look into jobs.

           

When he mentions it to Mello the man literally laughs in his face. Then he gets annoyed, which is even more troubling to Matt since the Mello he knows would throw a chair at Matt’s head before listening to a career lecture.

           

“I don’t like it any more than you do,” he says around a mouthful of cheeseburger. When Mello makes a face, he adds, “I’ll have to leave my computer. And the house. On a daily basis.”

           

“Yeah, yeah. What do you suggest we do about it?”

           

Matt waves a newspaper and Mello sneers. That’s more like it.  “Give me that.”

           

The next hour doesn’t get them anything other than hotter and more frustrated. Not only are they unemployed and nearly broke, but the apartment is burning from four straight days of non-air-conditioned summer weather. By sundown they’re reading by candle to save electricity (Matt’s idea and it’s terrible) and lounging half-naked in the bedroom (no one’s idea in particular and it’s perfect). Mello ends up throwing a newspaper out the window and Matt calls it progress.

           

“This is bullshit,” Mello snaps and flops back down on the bed. Naturally Matt takes this time to ogle him. Unlike Matt, Mello hasn’t taken any extremes to hide his appearance (dyeing his hair black was the worst thing Matt’s ever done, but it was worth it for Mello’s hysterical laughing fit. And to keep them from dying or getting arrested, of course). All he’s done is cut his hair, making it shorter than Matt’s ever seen it. It makes him look older, but somehow younger than when they were running away from Kira. Maybe he just looks grown up, considering Mello was walking around like death itself before. With no more hair to use as cover the patches of burned skin are impossible to hide. The scar still unnerves Matt, mostly because he remembers Mello weaving in and out of consciousness while bleeding to death on a shitty couch in LA. But it’s healed up and they’re in one piece, so he tries to suppress the involuntary shivers down his spine.

           

His eyes trail along the curve of Mello’s shoulders and throat and a knot forms in Matt’s throat. But there’s a look in Mello’s eyes that makes it clear he couldn’t be farther away. He wonders if he didn’t die after all, because he’s pretty sure he’s discovered a long-lost layer of Hell. They’re impossibly close like this, maybe closer than they’re ever been, and Matt’s still no closer to catching Mello.

           

“We’ll figure something out,” Matt says finally. His throat is tight, so much that it almost hurts to speak, but anything is better than the silence. “Well, you will. I’m just along for the ride half the time.”

           

Mello scoffs. “That’s not exactly comforting. I’m the one that got us into this mess.”

           

“Yeah,” he admits, because experience tells him arguing with Mello when he’s wallowing is rarely effective. “But you’ll get us out. You have before.”

           

“Hmph.” Mello flops on his side, leaving Matt to stare at the pale canvas of his back. “When was that exactly? That time I blew myself up? Or the time I got you shot? Maybe it was that time I planned on getting us both killed?”

           

Matt’s a patient person; anyone who deals with Mello on a regular basis has to be. But even he has his limit. “Is that what this is about? Are you seriously mad we’re not dead?”

           

“What’s the point? It’s not like we were raised to be normal people. We weren’t meant for this, so why bother?”

           

It’s exactly what he’s been expecting. It was obvious; Mello’s been moping around like a zombie while Matt has waited for the other shoe to drop. And there it is, a cold, hard truth that kicks Matt in the teeth: Mello would rather be dead than stoop to living some pointlessly human life with Matt. Somehow, his twenty-twenty vision doesn’t soften the blow.

           

When Mello left Wammy’s House, Matt cried for days. He locked himself in their room and sobbed until his chest hurt, until his eyes burned and he could barely breathe. He hasn’t cried since that day and he refuses to cry over Mello anymore.

           

Instead he grabs the nearest clothes, a pack of cigarettes, and storms out. After all, Mello’s life has always been a ‘party for one’ affair and the last thing Matt wants to do is crash.

           

An hour of walking leads him to a café that’s way too bright and reeks of old fruit. He’d been looking for a bar, but then he remembered he wasn’t even old enough to drink in one yet. It’s amazing; he’s old enough to drive a car, to shoot a gun, to fall in love, and nearly get killed and possibly save the world, but he can’t get a fucking beer. He settles for a cup of coffee, which he gets from a wrinkly old waitress who shoots him pity glances every other minute. Matt wonders if it’s obvious, if there’s a stamp across his face that says “I devoted my entire life to a guy and all I got were these lousy bullet wounds.”

           

Ever since he’s met Mello he’s had faith in him. Mello was the only thing in that damned orphanage that made any sense, that was ever real, and Matt remembers wondering how anyone could believe in anyone _but_ Mello. That’s not to say Mello hasn’t tested him, but even after he abandoned Matt it didn’t change anything. When he was younger it made sense to wait for Mello, no matter how much time passed or what they’d both become. That was back when he could sign his life away because he knew it was never meant to go anywhere anyway. But now they have a second chance and Matt’s not sure he can wait for Mello anymore.

           

A second steaming cup cuts into his vision and Matt looks up to see the older woman smiling down at him. It’s still strange being near people, interacting with them. All he’s ever known is four dark walls that kept people far, far away. It’s not entirely unpleasant, though; even if his skin gets hot and prickly when he’s in crowds or being talked to sometimes it’s nice not to be so alone. “I didn’t order this.”

           

“On the house,” the woman says and sits down on the chair opposite to him. It’s just after sunset and they’re the only people in the building. “Besides, you’ve been sitting here by yourself for hours, I was getting worried.”

           

Matt cracks the smallest of smiles. “Thank you, for the coffee and the concern.”

           

“If I looked at a face like yours and wasn’t concerned I’d be heartless. So, what is it, if you don’t mind me asking? Girl break your heart?”

           

 _More like ‘literally got me shot through the heart,’_ Matt thinks darkly. “Something like that. It’s kind of—“

           

“Complicated?” She offers and Matt nods. “It always is, especially when you’re young.”

           

They sit in silence for a little while after that, the woman—“Samantha,” her name tag says--humming while Matt sips at his coffee. He notices a weathered gold band on Samantha’s hand and on a whim Matt asks, “How do you know? When it’s right or when to take off?”

           

“Isn’t that the question everyone wants the answer to?” She laughs. “I wish I could say, but it’s different for everyone.”

           

Matt scowls. It’s a sign he’s spent too much time with Mello that he’s begun to judge people by how much he can get out of them. “So basically what you’re saying is I have to wait it out?”

           

“Basically.” The bell above the door chimes and Samantha pats his hand before getting up to help the incoming customer. Not that it matters, since said customer pulls out Samantha’s chair and sits in front of Matt.

           

This silence is a lot less comfortable. Mello isn’t even looking at him and it doesn’t seem like he’s going to speak at all. When he does Matt nearly jumps out of his skin. “I’m sorry.”

           

Matt stares at him, because Mello has apologized approximately zero times in all the years he’s known him. He never said he was sorry for leaving, for coming back, for anything. And yet here he is, sitting with Matt in a hole in the wall muttering like a petulant child. (Actually, that’s probably the most fitting comparison Matt could ever come up with) “For what?”

           

Mello grimaces, like he actually expected a few quick words to end it. “I don’t know, everything?”

           

“That doesn’t cut it, Mello.”

           

“Then what does?!”

           

Out of the corner of his eye Matt catches Samantha looking back and forth between them with a raised brow and he gives her a weak smile before turning back to Mello. “Why are you even here? If it’s just because I’m pissed at you, don’t worry about it. Not like it’s the first time I’ve wanted to punch you in the mouth.”

           

“I figured as much. And it’s not just because of that. Look, if you want to take off—“

           

Matt buries his face in his hands. It’s almost impressive how thickheaded Mello is. He can weave grand schemes and yet he always misses the most obvious of details. “Are you fucking serious right now? Why do you think I’ve done all this shit? You think it’s fun for me to chase around mass murderers and clean pus out of your face because honestly? Waiting around to see if one day you’ll turn up dead or worse isn’t my ideal pastime.”

           

“Hey, I get it, all right?” Mello sighs. “I’m trying, Matt.”

           

“No, you’re not. Limping along isn’t enough. You owe me more than that.”

           

“The fuck? Owe you what, exactly?”

           

“A chance, maybe? Five seconds to keep you in one place, to keep you with me?”

           

“You already have that. We live together, and God knows there’s nowhere else I could go.”

           

“What a sweet talker you are.” Matt’s gaze is critical when he meets Mello’s eyes. “But you know that’s not what I mean. Sure, you’re here physically, but I don’t have a fucking clue where your head is most of the time. Are you really going to try and do this? Live like a normal person?”

           

Mello looks away, his gaze drifting out the window and onto nothing. “I should pay for the things I’ve done,” he murmurs finally, and that’s when everything clicks. Matt feels stupid for not putting the pieces together earlier.

           

In the fading sunlight the cross around Mello’s neck glimmers. The necklace has been hanging between them from the beginning. It makes Matt think of the families they don’t have, the memories they never got to make, the names they can’t use. He looks at the scars on Mello’s face and feels the ones on his own body. “Don’t you think you already have?”

           

Mello says nothing, which says everything.

           

Matt clears his throat in a futile attempt to dislodge the sudden lump in it. “I should have died,” he says, and Mello’s eyes snap back to him. “I mean, all those hits?  It should have been impossible to survive that. And you weren’t planning on making it out of the Takada thing, I know that, too. But here we are, despite the odds. So maybe—fuck, I dunno. Maybe it’s a sign or something. Maybe the universe realized it dealt us a shitty deck and it gave us a chance to do things over. So why should we waste it?”

                                                                                         

At the very least, Mello looks softer; his eyes are still narrowed and he’s still scowling, but the years have taught Matt how to read Mello, no matter how scarred and sullen his face gets. His shoulders aren’t as tense and one of his palms is now flat on the table. Matt’s tempted to grab it, but he doesn’t think Mello’s loosened up that much. “I’m not saying it’s going to be easy,” he continues. “We’ll probably want to kill each other half the time.”

           

“We already do want to kill each other half the time.”

           

“Well, now we can try. See! Life is full of exciting possibilities.” Mello grins and Matt lets go a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Look, the point is that if you need me around I’m not going anywhere.”

           

“I do,” Mello says in a voice so low Matt barely even hears him.  It sounds like it’s killing him to admit it, which, knowing Mello, it probably is. “I do need you.”

           

On a logical level, Matt already knew this. They’ve always needed each other. But to hear Mello say it when there’s no L, no Near, no Kira, is something else entirely. “Then I’m here, but Mello? No more hiding from me and no more fucking around. I am done putting up with your dodgy bullshit. Either you treat me like an equal or I take off.”

           

Mello is staring at him and for a second Matt can see the man that brought the mafia to its knees. Which should be terrifying, but more than anything it’s a relief to look at Mello and see passion still inside him. Mello’s always been wildfire, making his own path without caring who or what was burned in the process, and Matt’s always been content to sit by the flames. He’s made his peace with that part of Mello’s nature long ago. The only thing that’s ever scared him was the possibility of that light, that power being snuffed off. The Kira case has turned Mello into smoke slipping through Matt’s fingertips and fading a little bit more every day. Matt can take Mello’s pain and his destruction; it’s the idea of nothing that’s unthinkable to him. “In that case,” Mello says, “There’s something I need you to do for me.”

           

“Anything,” Matt replies, because, well, it’s true. It’s irrational, but rational people have no place with Mello, anyway.  Besides, Matt knows Mello’s not going to sell him to a butcher shop or use him as a drug mule, so really, what’s the worst that can happen?

*

           

_“No.”_

           

“You did say—“

           

“To quote the great philosopher Meatloaf, ‘I would do anything for love, but I won’t do that.’” They’re standing in a corner drugstore that’s seen better days, and Matt’s five seconds away from beating Mello over the head with a pack of Nicorette.

Never in a millions years would he have guessed that this was what Mello wanted. Sure, Mello’s always been irritable about Matt’s smoking, sure, but Matt had always chalked it up to the fact that his partner was a neurotic control freak with a penchant for cleanliness. Currently Mello looks entirely too pleased with himself, managing to be even more smug than usual somehow, which, no, Matt absolutely does not find endearing. It’s surprisingly difficult to stay mad at Mello even though he’s a violent, insufferable cock half the time. “We don’t even have the money for this shit, dude. And—look, don’t take this the wrong way, but poverty doesn’t exactly suit you.”

“Because you burning through five packs a day is so cheap.”

“Smoking is my thing, okay? It’s who I am. Besides, how else am I supposed to maintain my girlish figure if I’m not hopped up on nicotine?”

“You could exercise.”

Matt stares at him. “That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Naturally, Mello cracks up. As much as Matt wants to stay angry, he can’t help but feel relieved at how relaxed Mello seems.

           

“Think of it like an investment,” Mello says, a grin playing around the corners of his lips. “If I have to stick this out then so do you.”

           

Matt sighs. “Why do you have to be so … not horrible sometimes?”

           

Sensing victory like blood in the water, Mello just smiles, and Matt prepares for the worst.

*

Withdrawal isn’t as bad as Matt expects--it’s worse. It takes all of two hours before Matt is puking his guts out and sweating through his clothes. The sledgehammer pounding in his head makes it feel like his eyes are going to burst, and he’s too dizzy to do much moving. After he slips and nearly cracks his skull on the tub, Mello confines Matt in the bedroom with a trashcan, a dozen bottles of Gatorade, and a stern warning.

The sense of deja vu this draws up isn’t welcome. But Matt’s too sick and tired to do much else but think (the tingling in his hands makes his skin crawl so bad he can’t even focus on his games). The last time this happened, their positions had been reversed; Mello had been the patient, and Matt had been his exhausted and completely freaked out caretaker.

It was far from Matt’s idea of a grand reunion, squatting in his shitty flat while struggling to keep Mello alive. Even without the horrific wound on his face, Mello was practically unrecognizable. The last time Matt had seen him he’d still had traces of baby fat in his cheeks and a softness in his eyes. But the creature that stumbled to Matt’s door was all sharp planes and hardened armor, to say nothing of the charred leather clinging to his body. The change was jarring, but naturally Matt had worried more about Mello going into shock from blood loss, or fever cooking his brain, or a million other things that were prone to happen when one set oneself on fire and then refused medical treatment. If Mello even stepped foot inside a hospital, he’d go to jail, he informed Matt between shaky, agonized breaths, which left Matt no choice but to patch him up and hope for the best. Looking back on it, it was really a wonder Mello had made it through the night.

It had taken about two weeks and more gauze than Matt had ever seen in his life before he was confident Mello would survive. It was little comfort considering that Mello was off planning his death as soon as he could walk and talk. Matt probably should have been angrier at the waste of time and effort. But more than anything, he was just happy to see Mello again, to be of use to him. If he got even a minute of listening to Mello rant and rave while he had his morning coffee, well. Matt considered that a success.

Thinking back to incident, while initially unpleasant, is actually kind of comforting. After all, if Mello could survive having his face fried off, surely Matt could kick nicotine.

By day two, Matt feels slightly better. In a way he’s grateful; he’s such a heavy smoker than the physical symptoms are his biggest problem, and he’s mostly slept those off. Still, it’s not all roses. His hands still feel fucked up and his patience is shot to hell. Matt’s snapped at Mello at least five times in twenty four hours. It’s uncommon for Matt even when Mello’s on his worst behavior, but for Mello’s part he’s been positively saintly throughout the ordeal. Matt’s torn between wanting to thank him for the slack and throttling him because this is all his fault.

 

Mello’s sudden change in temperament is the more unnerving than Matt’s withdrawal symptoms. Experience has taught Matt that if Mello’s not taking it out on someone else he’s probably beating himself up. Mello’s always been like this, ingrained with some fucked-up, distinctly Catholic need to punish himself, and Matt’s had enough of it.

Matt’s patching up one night when he notices Mello lingering in the doorway. His arms are folded across his chest and he’s scowling, the scar on his face making the expression even more severe.

Matt smooths the cold plastic over his bare shoulder and sighs. This isn’t a conversation he’s been looking forward to having, but having it linger over them like a storm cloud isn’t much better. He turns to Mello and fixes him with a stare. “If you have something to say, just say it.”

“There were traffic photos,” Mello says after a moment. His tone is distant, almost dreamlike, and his eyes trace the patterns on Matt’s scarred torso. “From when we took Takada, when the police cornered you.” Matt feels his blood run cold and struggles to keep his expression neutral. “Halle let me flip through them while you were in hospital.”

“Generous of her,” Matt replies carefully. “You should see if she’ll lend us a couple grand while she’s at it.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Then get to the point.” Maybe it’ll be like ripping off a bandage, getting all their baggage out in the open.

“Why did you get out of the car? There was enough space for you to back out and do God knows what, so why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t think they’d actually shoot! Since when are the Japanese so pro-gun?”

 

“Anyone can be pro-gun when they’ve got enough motivation to pull the trigger.”

“You talking from experience there, chief?”

“Fuck off, Matt. You know that’s not the point here. You almost died.”

“Yeah, I was kind of there for that bit.”

“Would you just shut up?” Mello snarls, voice bouncing off the bathroom walls. Even though he’s prepared for the worst, Matt still jumps, because he hasn’t seen Mello this angry at him since they were kids. “God, just shut the fuck up for once in your life. You think everything is a joke, that life is just one big fucking game, and it’s not. You have no idea what you’re even talking about.”

“Neither do you!” Matt retorts, then sighs; screaming matches with Mello always have a tendency to tire him out. “Look, I get it, all right? I know that I’m not like you, that you’re in this class that’s, like, five rungs above me, and that I couldn’t be on your level if I tried. You’re an arrogant little asshole and you’ve never missed a chance to rub it in my face how good you think you are, but that’s only because you think you’re trash and pulling on my pigtails is the only way you know how to deal. Which is why you’re attacking me when you really blame yourself; you just don’t want to admit how shitty you feel.” Mello flinches as if Matt’s slapped him, but Matt forces himself to continue despite the guilt bubbling up. “I’m not a kid, and I’m not one of your subordinates. I’ve made my choices, and I can live with what I’ve done. Don’t push your guilt on me.”

Mello’s pulse works in his throat, and Matt watches the gesture rather than meeting Mello’s eyes. “No regrets, then?” Mello asks, and his tone isn’t quite as joking as he’d probably hoped it would be.

“Well, in hindsight ruining my car was a bad move.”

“You got turned into human Swiss cheese and all you care about is your car?”

“Uh, excuse you. We had something special, that car and I. I’ll have you know restored her from scratch; she kept me busy in times of sorrow. But I guess it was worth it,” Matt adds grudgingly. “I mean, it bought you some time, so.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Mello says, glancing away. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“Didn’t tell me not to, either,” Matt points out. “Besides, what was I going to do without you besides be bored and lonely?”

“I’m sure you’d manage.”

Matt chuckles to cover up the sudden lump in his throat. “Believe me when I say I wouldn’t.” Memories of a mansion cold and empty run through his mind, but he pushes them away. That was then, but this is now, and now is the time where he's with Mello. Now they have all the time in the world. 

 

It still doesn't feel real. Matt's not sure it ever will. They'll probably spend the rest of their lives waiting for this chance to disappear, because people like them don't get second chances. Except, apparently, they do.

 

He's not stupid; he knows they're still in the shit. They have no money, no homes, no foreseeable future, and there's always the chance that one of their many enemies will track them down. But they do have each other, fully for the first time, and it's a start.

 

When he finishes up in the bathroom Mello is already passed out cold in their bed, and Matt quickly follows after him. For the first time in years, they both sleep through the night. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> the first chapter and half of the second have been sitting finished in my drive for like two years lol o o p s 
> 
> anyway here's something for the true otp, the sacred otp, the one ship to rule them all etc. etc. etc. i hope you enjoyed it. any and all hits/kudos/comments are very much appreciated
> 
> talk mellomatt to me @ erwinsmiths dot tumblr dot com


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